Too Late
by mochachill
Summary: Tu/S face life after Enterprise. Experiment in using present tense. Triple challenge from Linguistics Database—words are listed above the sections. (C.J.)


Too Late  
Author: McCool21 (C.J.)  
  


Summary: Double challenge from Linguistics Database—words are listed above the sections. Tu/S face life after Enterprise. Experiment in using present tense.

Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek, not me. Just borrowing the characters for recreational purposes!

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Linguist Eyelashes Sad

_'It's too late'. _

Trip stands behind Malcolm and tries to look like he is interested in what the Lieutenant is saying. Like he isn't watching her. And all the while, he's thinking, '_It's too late'_.

It is, of course. Seven years of wasted glances and pointless, _friendly_ conversations. Their mission is ending, even as they dock with Earth for the last time. 

A trickle of sweat inches down his side. He knows with absolute conviction that if he doesn't do something now, while they're still on Enterprise, while their lives are still intertwined, it will be too late. In a moment, his opportunity will have passed and he can't think of anything to say. Trip Tucker, the man whose name is synonymous with 'outspoken', stuck dumb by a certain linguist.

She sits at her station, as she has every day for almost a decade, calling in final communications with Starfleet. A light, final thud and they're home. To Trip, it sounds a lot like a door slamming shut.

Jon stands from his chair. While he makes the final speech about sad moments, historic journeys, and a fine crew, Trip nods. 

The wetness in his eyes isn't just for her. His adventure is over. There will be more. But he will never stand on this deck again as Commander Tucker, Chief Engineer of Enterprise. In a year, all of the people around him will be his past. When he does see them, their conversations will consist of "have you seen…?" and "do you remember when…?".

She is standing, preparing to exit the bridge. Jon pulls her into a friendly hug. Travis takes his turn, saying something that makes her laugh. Wiping at the tears on her cheeks, she walks with the helmsman to the lift. A quick stop in her quarters for her bags, and her adventure will be over too.

Malcolm is shaking his hand, his hand warm and dry in contrast to Trip's damp palms. Over the lieutenant's shoulder, Trip watches her enter the lift with Travis. Facing front, she lifts her eyelashes and her eyes meet his. Adrenaline surges through him, lightning quick, chest to groin and back again. 

As the door closes, she smiles, just a little, to say goodbye.

_God, why didn't I say something? _

Because it's too late.

_**_

Tucker Grateful Stars

Hoshi smoothes down the jacket of her dress uniform before she enters the room. She's late; the reception has been going on for hours. Skirting around the edge, she spots some of her former crewmates huddled together by the punch bowl. Malcolm, Travis, and Trip grin at her and their expressions are infectious. With a smile, she helps herself to punch, hoping that it's spiked. She takes a sip. It isn't, she realizes with a sigh.

Malcolm says something witty and she laughs on cue, thinking only of escape. She could be at home, planning her next lesson, reading, even sleeping…

Another sigh. She is sad, she can admit to herself. Sad to leave these men, sad that her time on Enterprise is over. But weeks have passed and she is settling into her position as Linguistics Professor at the Academy.  

She redirects her attention to what the men are saying. Malcolm bends down, reaching for a cup. Over his head, Hoshi's eyes meet Trip's. He gives her a trademark smile and she returns it.

"Dance with me?" he says. She is so surprised that she nods.

He swings her into his arms, making her laugh. Things are always easy with Trip.

"You're beautiful." His statement surprises her again. Seven years, and Trip has never once noticed her looks. 

At her startled 'thank you', he grins, fast, and twirls her out to arm's length. 

Grateful for the respite, she waits until he pulls her back and asks him how he's been. She knows him well—he has to be missing the stars, the adventure. His new Captain's post won't begin for months, after construction of the Starship Venture has been completed.

He answers vaguely, with an enigmatic smile. The song changes to a slow rhythm; without asking, he makes the transition, still holding her. His breath is accelerated; she can feel the heat from his body through his uniform. 

He is talking about the Venture now. What a beauty of a ship she is. His plans for the crew.

She smiles and nods, enjoying, as always, the deep drawl of his voice. Like all of the men on Enterprise, his voice is like music to her—with its own rhythm and unique tones. She's identified each cadence. Travis is pop music, upbeat, fun, but constant. Malcolm is classical, of course, formal, but always invoking an intense reaction from the listener—ranging from angry to soothed. Trip was harder to place, but she had finally decided on old-time gospel music—hymns and ballads that speak of faith and loyalty and love that last forever.

She realizes that he's asked her a question. An important one, judging by the tautness of his body. She is embarrassed that she has to ask him to repeat it.

He smirks at her. And says it again. 

Her mind goes blank. He is watching her hopefully and she can think of nothing, not a single syllable, to say in response.

When her mind shifts back into gear, she starts to shake her head. "I can't," she tells him. She already has commitments. Plans.

The song ends. This time he lets her go, stepping back from her, but he keeps her hand. His is warm and calloused—but damp. Trip Tucker is full of surprises tonight.

Another song begins, but they don't move. He says her name, lilting in his gospel-voice, and asks her one more time. He even throws in his old speech about adventure and opportunity.

She is seeing the faces of her students, her office—her new apartment.

"It's too late," she says.

His eyes hold more than disappointment. She recognizes pain, but can't think why.

He nods, smiling again, mutters something about not blaming a guy for trying.

Hoshi stands still, watching as he walks away, winding through dancers towards the door. He disappears among the other officers. 

The second he leaves her line of vision, clarity strikes. She knows she has turned down much more than a post on the Venture. 

And now it's too late.

**

Commander Ethereal Wish

Hoshi stands in an open window of her apartment. Curtains twist violently—the winds are ruthless against the high rise where she lives.

Her life has looped in an unexpected direction this evening. She's back on her path now, but for just a moment, she saw what the road not taken held. An ethereal image that fades when she tries to focus on it.

She shakes her head and the image is gone completely. 

She knows her place—she knows what will make her happy. She has no wish to return to space, not when she finally has her feet back on Earth's ground. Commander—no, Captain Tucker will find himself another linguist. As for another role she might have filled, well, she is likely imagining that other possibility.

Hoshi moves to a comfy chair, picking up a PADD that contains her first lesson. Classes start in less than a week. She will be leading the first course in Klingon—and she has always found comfort in her work.

Her door chime rings and she raises her head. The ache in her neck indicates that hours have passed since she sat down. It's the middle of the night, a strange hour for visitors. She lives in a secure building, too. Which means that it is probably someone from Starfleet, someone with a high security clearance. She hesitates, running over the possibilities—afraid that it will be who she suspects. Afraid that it won't.

The chime sounds again. 

With a glance at her sweats and old Budweiser T-shirt, Hoshi goes to the door and opens it. 

Head down, Trip is leaning against her doorframe, a hand resting on each side of the door. She isn't expecting him to be so close; she feels a flip-flop in her chest and she steps back a little.

He raises his head as the door opens, saying her name. His face is unfamiliar. She doesn't know this expression, not in Trip. She's never seen desire and her own face, combined, in his eyes.

He pushes back to a standing position and crosses his arms. She notices the uniform is gone; he's wearing jeans and a navy Starfleet T-shirt. He smiles, transforming back into her Trip. It strikes Hoshi that those words—'her Trip'—have a different meaning for her tonight.

"I was almost asleep," he says, voice warm and musical as always, "and I remembered something important." He is smiling, yet his expression is serious. "I don't believe in 'too late'."


End file.
